on his grief
by sinemoras09
Summary: Haji has regrets. Vietnam and everything after. Haji, George. Canon Haji/Saya. Angst. Pre-series.


_._

_._

1.

The hum of the fluorescent lights did nothing for Haji's headache, but gamely he sat at the edge of the examining table, sleeve rolled up and waiting for the red shield tech to finish tying the tourniquet. "This should wake her up," the scientist said, and Haji nodded, the tech pulling back his skin and cannulating his vein. Blood popped into the vacu-sealed test tube with an audible hiss, and Haji watched as blood poured into the vial.

"That should be enough," the scientist said, and he nodded to the tech, pocketing the vials of blood and loading them into a syringe.

Haji sat on the table and rolled down his sleeve, and the scientists moved around him, writing in clipboards and speaking as if he wasn't there.

xXx

.

It took three days and half a dozen men to dissect out Saya's cocoon, which was stuck to the rocky surface with strong thick webs. Haji had watched, heart in his throat and pacing nervously as Red Shield men ripped through the cords with chain saws and secured the cocoon with heavy metal chains, dropping it unceremoniously into a wooden box for transport.

Now her cocoon was lying on top of a metal table, scientists peeling back the webs with thick rubber gloves and special masks. "Because those fibers might be dangerous if they're inhaled," one scientist explained. The layers were too tough; the scientists dug in, fingers deep into the webs, and yanked back, hard. Haji took in a sharp breath: reflexively he pictured Saya's clothes being ripped off.

"It's so _tough_," someone said. The senior researcher nodded.

"The cocoon thins when she's ready to wake. Maybe a little blood will help."

"Maybe," the other one said. Haji stood.

"Perhaps I can try," Haji said. The researchers stopped. Haji stepped forward.

It was an interesting feat of physiology, something that Joel no doubt would have appreciated. Haji brushed his hand over the silken webs and he felt them unravel beneath his fingers. It was like two waves converging, a soul resonance that responded to his touch.

"It is probably an adaptive mechanism," the scientist said. "If a chevalier needs to wake her, it lets her."

"Probably," the other one said. They wrote in their clipboards.

Saya would want this. Saya would want to stop Diva at any cost. Haji worked, methodically peeling back each layer of her cocoon, reminding himself that he was doing this for Saya, only for Saya. That she would be angry at him if he didn't.

The layers parted. He could see Saya's sleeping face.

"Wonderful!" the scientist said. "Mr. Haji, if you please...?"

He motioned to the rest of the cocoon, which cloaked the rest of Saya's body. Haji frowned.

Her skin was pale and cool and the color of a runny egg, and her lips were purple and chapped. "She looks dead," the researcher said, and Haji's stomach twisted. "Why does she look dead?"

"She is still asleep," Haji said. His fingers brushed the side of her cheek, and he was shocked at how cold she felt. He could see her veins through the lids of her eyes.

"The blood," the scientist said. Haji watched as other men's hands gripped Saya's arms and legs, dumping her onto the gurney like a broken doll.

xXx

.

They dispatched the trucks an hour later. Haji watched as the helicopters took off, a coterie of soldiers and red shield men disappearing into the fray.

"I should be with her," Haji said. The scientist shook her head.

"Not possible," she said. "Right now Saya is a weapon. She won't even recognize you."

"Saya would know me," Haji said. He looked out the window, at the bursts of orange flares exploding above the trees. "She is only confused because she woke too early. If we only gave her time-"

"We have no time," the general said. He sat beside the scientist, glaring. "We have the chance to end this here. Not tomorrow. Not the day after. But here, now."

Haji's jaw clenched. He kept his eyes trained on the ground.

"We need you for backup," the scientist said. She touched Haji on the arm. "In case things get out of hand."

"I understand," Haji said.

He thought of the last time he spoke with her: it was in the middle of a Russian field. It was snowing then. She had fallen asleep in his arms.

xXx

.

She was thrashing against the gurney. Blood and body parts lay strewn all over the battlefield, and Saya roared, straining against the restraints. Haji watched through the window of the closed door, cradling his hand. She was confused and afraid and he could see the tears in her eyes. She roared again and a scientist quickly administered another sedative.

"She keeps waking up," the scientist said. "Your blood keeps having that effect on her."

Haji squeezed his eyes. His hand hurt; the pain wrapped around it like a thick blanket, keeping him from changing form.

Saya passed out. Long strands of hair stuck to her skin and face, which was clammy and cold and covered with a fine sheen of sweat. Haji pushed through the doors and stepped beside her, pressing a hand to her neck and feeling her pulse.

"Haji." Her eyes cracked open. They were swollen and puffy.

"Saya," Haji said. He gripped her hand. "Saya, forgive me."

Saya's eyes closed. Her breathing slowed.

"She's finally in hibernation," the other researcher said. He snapped shut his clipboard. "Thank god."

"You tricked me," Haji said.

"You agreed to it," the general said. He stepped forward, frowning. "You were the first to say you wanted her awake. We only gave you the opportunity."

The dumped her body back into a wooden box. Haji moved but red shield men surrounded her, guns in hand.

If he were human, he would have died. They left him lying in the middle of a muddy field, the rain falling and his body aching and covered with mud.

xXx

.

2.

Days after the incident in Vietnam, Saya's cocoon was entrusted to the care of a man named George.

Haji watched from the shadows, quietly seething as red shield lackeys hoisted her coffin into a lackluster crypt in the middle of Okinawa.

xXx

.

The first time Saya fell into her long sleep, Haji had no idea what was happening. One moment, he and Saya were traveling in the middle of the countryside, Saya a few paces ahead of him walking down an old dirt road.

Saya staggered. Haji rushed forward, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her upright. Her skirt brushed against the gravel and her legs buckled out from under her, and it was all Haji could do to keep her from falling. He hoisted her up and pulled her into a nearby inn, pounding on the door and begging the innkeeper for help.

She still had a pulse. Haji stayed by her side, keeping vigil by candlelight and stroking her hair from her face. Days passed, and on the fourth night a fine silken web had appeared over her body like a funeral shroud. It frightened him, but when he pressed his face up against those webs he could still feel her heartbeat under his cheek.

Those were the worst years, then. He watched over her as the years passed, wondering what would happen or if she would ever wake up.

When she did wake up, the webs to her cocoon thinned, and Saya reached out for him, pulling herself upright and clutching the side of his arm.

"Did I pass out?" Saya asked. And she looked up at him and smiled.

xXx

.

For the first time in a hundred years, Haji was not by Saya's side.

During her other hibernations, Haji always stayed nearby; he sat with her sword and his cello by the corner. But now Saya was in another man's care, and Haji had no right to be beside her.

The streets of Paris were surprisingly quiet at night. Haji walked, his footsteps on the cobblestones making hollow echoes across the silent buildings as he walked. Before Vietnam, Saya had maybe only a few more years before she would wake, but now her cycle had been reset, and Haji would have to wait another thirty years.

Thirty years, now almost sixty. The years stacked up on him like weights on his chest, and he had somehow let his loneliness and his longing to see her cloud his judgment. Of course Saya wouldn't want this, not that senseless bloodshed, not that mindless hunger that made her slaughter and rage. It was his fault, and it was because of him that she had to suffer even more.

xXx

.

The man, George, contemplated suicide the night his wife and daughter died. In the shadows, Haji watched as the man tasked to watch his beloved's sleep fell onto his knees and started to cry.

"Are you all right?" Haji asked, and George startled. He stood, moving slowly around Haji, awestruck.

"I know you," George said. "They told me about you. You're her chevalier."

"I am." Haji watched quietly as George checked himself; the shock of being discovered in a moment of weakness was now replaced by suspicious confusion.

"Why are you here?" George asked.

"Because I sensed that she would need me," Haji said. He motioned to George's gun.

"Shit," George said. He ran a hand through his hair. "I think I'm drunk."

"So it would seem."

"Shit," George said again. Haji watched as he shakily put the gun back into its holster.

xXx

.

Perhaps it was loneliness, or perhaps it was because the years of isolation were starting to get to him, but increasingly Haji found himself spending more time with George.

"You can use the door, you know," George said, when Haji appeared at his window.

They would wait until nightfall before visiting Saya's tomb, George carrying a flask of something and Haji frowning in disapproval. "Just pretend it's blood," George said, and he poured himself a shot. "It's the stuff of life. Made for celebrating."

"I do not see what you are celebrating," Haji said. George sniffed.

"Kai got an A," George said. He sat on the ledge outside Saya's tomb, swirling the glass, thoughtfully. "Never thought I'd love those kids as much as I do. They're like my own, you know?"

George squinted. Haji cocked his head. "I guess you don't know," George said, finally.

The night was quiet. Haji watched as the stars seemed to blink serenely overhead, and listened at the soft night sounds that surrounded them. George tossed back a drink and unwrapped a sandwich, pausing only to offer Haji half of it. Haji shook his head, politely.

"I forget that you people don't eat," George said. "But I never see you drink blood, either. Why is that?"

"I only drink enough to stay alive," Haji said. "It is...a disconcerting habit."

"Huh," George said. He fiddled with his sandwich, frowning. "Is that why you can't transform?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, the wings and the hands and stuff. You've never been full chiropteran. At least, that's what David tells me," George said. Haji stiffened.

"I have no desire to fuel the monster within me," Haji said. "It is...inelegant." He stared at his hands, the right one twice as big and still conspicuously inhuman despite its bandages. George seemed to stare at him for a long time before he finally spoke.

"You know what my last words to my wife were?" George asked. "'Don't forget the milk.' Christ." He shook his head, rubbing his neck. "Sometimes it feels just like yesterday. I get so guilty, you know. Even though it's been years."

"It is understandable," Haji said. "You loved her." George nodded, quietly.

"You should tell her when she wakes up," George said. "That you love her, I mean."

Haji stared. George scratched his head and turned the sandwich over in his hands, chewing thoughtfully. "It's been twenty years. I think I've known you as long as I've known anybody. I see the way you look at her," George said, and he motioned to the cocoon, which pulsated, gently. "You love her. You've been in love with her. You're so lovesick it drives me crazy." Haji shook his head.

"I have no right," Haji said. "Especially after what I did to her."

George was quiet. He finished his sandwich, bunching up the saran wrap in his hands and stuffing it in his pocket. "You only wanted to see her, right?" George said. "I know the feeling. It gets so lonely you want to jump outta your skin."

"Yes," Haji said. George stood and clapped him on the shoulder.

"Just tell her you're sorry," George said. "When she wakes up. Just tell her you're sorry and then when she's not mad anymore, tell her how you feel. Take it from me," George said. "You'll be a lot happier."

Haji watched as George climbed down. He was older than Haji remembered, and for the first time Haji noticed the streaks of gray at George's temple, and at the loose skin at the middle of George's waist. If passersby were to stop, they would probably suppose George was his father, the physical difference between the two of them was so great.

"Oi," George said, and he waved. "Give an old man some help?"

Haji stood and smiled.

xXx

.

She started to wake. George and the coterie of red shield soldiers waited outside the periphery. Haji kneeled, brushing back the cobwebs and cradling Saya's face.

"Saya," Haji said. His heart was in his throat. "Saya."

Saya opened her eyes. She looked up at Haji and screamed.

xXx

.

3.

When Haji was still human, when Saya still had the innocence of a young girl and when the Zoo was nothing more than a beautiful dream, he once found a lily growing at the bottom of the cliffside. He knew Saya had been collecting them. It took the better half of the afternoon to scale the cliff and pick the flower. It took the other half of the afternoon to muster the courage to give it to her.

_"Haji?" Saya said, and Haji stared at the mountains of bouquets lining the walls of her room. He put his hand behind his back, covering hiding the flower from her. "What is it?"_

_"Nothing," Haji said, and he crushed the flower in his hand._

"Saya!" Haji said. She screamed and struggled as George pulled her into his arms. "Saya, please-"

He looked up at George, agonized.

"She is frightened of me," Haji said. George's face was pale.

Haji left. Left before he could see how Saya folded up into herself, eyes wide and shaking like a wounded animal.

xXx

.

The year that passed went slower than all the years Haji had walked the earth by himself. When it became clear Saya did not remember him, Haji distanced himself, keeping only just close enough to protect her should the situation warrant it: but there were no chiropterans in Okinawa, and the days passed in a lazy haze, Saya going to high school without any idea of who she was.

"She's joined the track team," George said. He sat heavily on the porch stoop, the yellow porch light casting a muted glow on the grass. "She's quite the runner. They say she might even break the school record, given enough time."

"You must be proud," Haji said. George rubbed his neck.

"Yeah," George said. "I guess I am."

Around them, the night was quiet. Haji could hear children playing in the fields behind George's house.

"She still doesn't remember," George said. His eyes flicked upward, meeting Haji's. "I'm not sure if it's because we woke her early, but they're saying she might not ever get her memories back. I even gave her this," George says, and he hands Haji a locket - the small red charm Saya used to wear around her neck. "She asked me if it was her mother's."

"I see," Haji said. George frowned.

"What are you going to do if she doesn't remember?" George asked.

"I will protect her," Haji said. "Even if it is from the shadows, I will be there."

Later that night, Haji watched her sleep. He hovered just outside her window, watching each rise and fall of her breathing. Her eyelids fluttered and her lips parted, and Haji couldn't help but think of the times she'd fallen asleep beside him, head resting against his chest and a small hand clutching the fabric of his shirt.

She didn't remember, but it was just as well. She was happier here, without him.

xXx

.

4.

There was another memory. One that kept him warm during those lonely nights.

It was a clear day, the kind that the Zoo seemed to be known for, blue skies and white gulls flying overhead. Saya was sitting, legs dangling into the riverbank, while Haji walked behind her. She seemed to hear his footsteps because she turned, and her face broke into a bright wide smile.

What was it that crashed over him? That feeling of lightness, as if everything in that world reverberated around that single sight. She smiled and waved and gathered the thick fabric of her skirt in her hands. Years later, when Saya slept and Haji stood vigil over her, watching her with chiropteran eyes through the murky dark, he would imagine how her lips would feel against his, her kiss soft and sweet and unhurried, as a thousand rays of sunshine broke over them like waves.

"It wasn't your fault," George said.

Haji looked up. Somehow the old man seemed to read him better than he can read himself; Haji frowned and straightened, hoisting his cello case on his back. "I know what you're thinking," George said. "You've taken care of her for so long. But maybe it's time to show yourself," he said. And then, "Maybe if she sees you, she'll remember."

The sun was setting, and the grass was backlit a brilliant orange. Saya was laughing. She was far away, but he could feel it: they still shared a common soul.

"You miss her," George said, but Haji shook his head.

"What I wish for is irrelevant," Haji said. "I only wish for Saya's happiness. Nothing more."


End file.
